Feel
by OrangeShipper
Summary: What Matthew considers a perfectly innocent comment leads to an awakening of feelings that he'd long thought dormant. S2 spoilers up to 2x07 previews. Very M!


A/N: _So, it's a while since I've written some lovin' for these two (is it? Feels like it, anyway!). _

_I got ridiculously excited about two moments from the upcoming episode 2x07, both of which appear here, and both of which went towards spawning this. Anyway, I got excited, this popped into my head, and... there we have it! I had to write it before the weekend, before next episode potentially destroys all my hope...  
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_Enormous thanks to Eolivet for encouraging this and then making sure I hadn't gotten too carried away!_

_Do enjoy...! :)_

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><p><strong><span>Feel<span>**

It had been a perfectly innocent comment. He'd not meant anything by it. It seemed a perfectly natural thing to have said to her.

"_Have you seen the boys haircuts the women are wearing in Paris?"_

"_I hope you won't try that…" _

He'd barely registered that the room seemed vaguely surprised at his remark. He was alerted by Lavinia's almost snappy retort, and Carlisle's cagey assertion over Mary, but he agreed with them! It wouldn't be very feminine. Not right for Mary. What was wrong in him expressing an opinion?

Cousin Violet had outlined it in rather spectacularly clear fashion to him after dinner, just after he'd retired to his bedroom.

Apparently… it might be considered inappropriate – by some – to show any concern or bearing over how your distant cousin might choose to wear her hair. It hadn't seemed out of place to Matthew at all, but… it seemed that that, perhaps, was precisely the problem.

Particularly so, in light of what cousin Violet had told him only moments before.

"_Mary is still in love with you."_

"_What?"_

It had been the only reply he could make. His mind, his heart, in the space of a second seemed to have flipped and turned around and somersaulted to the point that he had no idea _what_ he thought. He'd become mute, dumb, unable to reply with any coherence as his mind tumbled over every moment, every interaction, every glance and word as he wondered how he could possibly have misjudged things so terrifically. Muttering about Lavinia, duty, their futures, he tried to pass it off and ignore it and his own, seemingly apparent feelings for Mary… Mary _loved_ him. _Still_ loved him. That single fact turned his whole world on its head.

Eventually, it had struck him. Of course he hadn't seen it. He had never looked for it. Had never _wanted_ to see it, because he couldn't, he… It was impossible. She hadn't loved him enough! He'd spent a good part of the year following the mess of their relationship driving it into himself that she had clearly never cared for him in the first place, it had been in his head, it hurt him too much to think about, and then… Lavinia. Lavinia, who'd covered the hurt, so when he returned to Downton and Mary had been nothing but friendly to him it had been _alright_, but… All this time?

He'd never had reason to question his own feelings. He'd never wanted to, never dared to. Mary had made him hurt, Lavinia had made him happy… What else was there, then, to think of? They'd become good friends, he felt close to her, certainly, felt like himself again when he was with her and recognised how she had supported him in these last trying months, but…. Was that _love_? Could it be?

Beginning to feel sick, he thought about Lavinia. How, not very long after she'd left, he'd begun not to miss her. It had been… alright. He was there, Mary was with him, it was perfectly alright. He'd enjoyed her company, her care. And then Lavinia had come back, and he'd felt… disappointed, if he was painfully honest. But he _loved_ her! Did he? Suddenly, with a terrible feeling in his gut, Matthew realised he wasn't so sure. He hadn't longed for her to come back. He hadn't _needed_ to bury his pain, drive out the hurt… because the pain he felt was not from her departure. And he couldn't shake the horrible disappointment that she'd come back to _care_ for him, not just to _be_ with him, and she didn't seem to realise how utterly _pathetic_ that made him feel, not like Mary who –

Oh, God. He was in love with her.

He'd remained in his chair after Violet had left, almost trembling, staring at the pattern on the carpet in from of him as he tried to work out his own mind. It seemed fantastically obvious now, and he felt… He didn't know how he felt, only numb, and unsure because what if he _did_ love her, and she _did_ love him, what on earth could they possibly –

A soft tap on the door startled him back to awareness.

"Yes?" he called out, irritably.

The door opened anyway.

"There you are! I wondered where you'd been hiding. Granny's just left looking ever so pleased with herself, dear Papa is a little concerned, I think. Anyway, I happened to see this in the library, and I know we'd been talking about it the other day, so thought I'd bring it down in case you wanted to read a little before you fell asleep. Though if you want to read _any_ before you fall asleep, I'd pass over the editor's introductory note. It's not quite so thrilling as the rest of the novel, I'm afraid to say!"

Mary smiled with perfect innocence at him, stepping further into the room and allowing the door to fall shut behind her. In her hand she held out a worn copy of _Journey__ to __the __Centre __of __the __Earth_, which Matthew had expressed an interest in with a desire for some mild escapism one day, as they sat by the fire against the driving rain outside.

Matthew simply stared at her, his lips parted a fraction as he tried desperately to see past the roaring awareness in his mind that everything about her was coloured by the fact that _she__ loved __him_, and he… He suddenly realised how beautiful, how perfectly beautiful she looked, the deep blue of her gown a contrast to her pale skin, her elegant, almost bared shoulders…

After several moments of this, Mary's smile faded a little anxiously, and she leaned forwards to put it on the table. "Well, I'll just leave it here for you. Matthew?"

He blinked, swallowed, shifted uncomfortably and stared at her.

_She __was __still __in__ love __with __him._

"Your grandmother came to talk to me," he almost whispered, his gaze on her unsure.

Mary felt the brief quiver of her lips and the flash of panic that crossed her face before she could stop it. The way he was looking at her, as though he were reappraising her, the tone of his voice that concealed something far deeper that he wanted to say…

Her knees felt suddenly weak. Crouching by his chair (as she often did anyway, not liking to stand looking down at him), she licked her lips, smiled brightly and tried to sound as dismissive as possible.

"Oh? " Ideally, some witty, dismissive comment would have followed but her mind (and her pulse) was racing. Granny… Matthew… Granny had only ever mentioned Matthew to her, at least, in the context of…

"Mary, are you in love with me?"

No sooner had the question slipped past his lips than Matthew froze, feeling his blood run cold. He hadn't meant to just come out with it like that, and he almost didn't want her to answer… The air between them seemed to electrify, intensify, everything standing still as though the very room were holding its breath in anticipation of her response.

She physically flinched at the directness of it. Her eyes widened, then dropped, then flitted anywhere but him, her lips parted and closed before finally her eyes closed and, with a gentle sigh of acceptance, she breathed,

"Yes."

Silence rang heavily between them. After several terse moments, she dared to open her eyes, tentatively meeting his gaze… His expression was unreadable. Everything had been knocked out of her in responding, though, and so she waited with relative calmness, gripping the strut of his wheelchair for support.

For a long while, he frowned, feeling quite different now that he'd heard it from her. She _was_ still in love with him. And he… loved her. Looking at her now, so trusting before him, so open – he realised he did. But…

"Why didn't you tell me?"

His voice was small, unsure… Almost sad.

Mary shook her head. "I… How could I?"

"But I didn't know."

"Of course you didn't know!" she laughed, the sound seeming too bright, forced. "And you shouldn't know! Granny had no right to tell you, when you –"

"But if I'd known –" He stopped, they both stopped, stared at each other breathlessly. Matthew shook his head.

"You love Lavinia," Mary prompted gently. "That is why you didn't know, why you couldn't know."

"Do I?" he snapped. "I didn't ask her to come back! I…" Mary looked shocked, and Matthew settled back, trying to calm himself. He blinked, shook his head again. "Anyway, you've – Carlisle…"

"Yes."

"But…" What was there to 'but' over? Matthew sighed, feeling defeated, in a strange sort of way. "Mary, my dear… I didn't know."

"No."

Without paying it too much thought, but suddenly needing to, Matthew took her hand and held it tightly in his lap.

"Your grandmother said you're _still_ in love with me."

"Oh?" Mary sighed. It felt like the purest torture, that he knew and yet could _not_ know…

"How long?" His voice was no more than the merest murmur.

"Oh, I can hardly say –"

"Mary."

She shrugged. "I can't say exactly. Before you ever proposed to me, though. I think." There seemed little point in denying it now.

Matthew might as well have been punched in the gut.

"I didn't know," he said again. Mary simply smiled, sadly, and shook her head at him.

"Well now you do, and it is of no matter, because you must forget it again!" She squeezed his hand to reassure herself as much as him.

"How can you say that!" His sudden anger made her jump a little, and she looked up at his anguish. "Mary, if I'd have known – if I'd have _ever_ known! Then –"

"Then things would be different, I know!" She found herself losing patience, and snapped back at him. "We might have been married five years ago, but Matthew there were reasons then, and there are reasons now, and –"

"But I love you!"

To say the words, to express it, after having buried and denied it to the point of obliviousness for so long, made it all suddenly very real, like the purest rush of release.

For some devastating, endless moments, they remained motionlessly locked into one another's gaze, one another's awareness, as the full enormity of their confessions and the impossibility of it weighed upon them. Love, dear love, more than either of them had ever dared to hope or entertain.

And then…

They could not say any more, and they were kissing, kissing desperately, furiously… Years' worth of regrets and repression and passion and now, exquisite realisation spilled out and over into a storm of lips and kisses and skin, and there was nothing they could do.

They didn't need any more words, all that seemed important had been said. They couldn't do this, couldn't, but they were, and nothing else mattered… Matthew pulled her up and into his lap and she clung to him, stroking his face and his hair, his shoulders, kissing him deeply, so wonderfully, deliciously deeply… She flamed with emotion, desire, hardly able to comprehend that it was _Matthew_ and yet so painfully aware that it _was_…

Matthew stopped thinking. Couldn't think, didn't want to think. His arms were tightly around her waist, pulling her closer to him, against him, in that moment she was everything… and her tongue was in his mouth, or his in hers, he couldn't tell anymore but they duelled for dominance as he tasted her, lifting a hand to clasp the back of her head and keep her close in this torturously wonderful clash.

Discomfort did not occur to Mary as she straddled his lap, disregarding the awkwardness of the wheelchair arms. She ached for closeness, and pressed herself to him, gasping into his mouth as she felt his hands on her shoulders, felt the thin straps of her dress slide off at the urge of his fingers… Matthew groaned, dropping his lips to her neck, sucking gently at her pulse before trailing his kisses along to her shoulder, her bare shoulder… He clutched her tighter. He could feel… Oh, he could feel, as she tangled her fingers in his hair, angled her head so he could reach more of her precious skin, could feel her against him…

And just then, Mary felt him too.

"Matthew!" she gasped, pulling back and staring at him, lips parted in shock, but… delight.

He swallowed, could feel his cheeks aflame with realisation and the flush of arousal. "I… Well, you know I…" he stammered.

"I hadn't – realised…" Now, she realised only too well, alongside the fact that her dress was almost up around her hips as she'd thrown herself so eagerly against him…

"No, I wasn't sure myself until – now, and…" His words were stolen in another demanding kiss, to which he offered no resistance.

They sought each other with urgent passion, and within glorious, endless minutes Matthew's jacket was somehow off, his bow tie discarded while his lips were searching her shoulders, throat, chest… They didn't think to question what they were doing, to stop and justify it, or wonder about the sense of it. None of that mattered. It might not make any sense, it certainly wasn't wise, or proper, or right, but it was happening, it was happening now and they were together and fuelled by a bursting intensity of unrestrained love which nothing – no reason or sense – could stand in the way of.

His shirt was open and her hands slipping inside, she ached to be closer and squirmed over him to feel him more. Matthew felt her efforts and groaned quietly, not strong enough to move against her as he'd like to, everything about the chair was too restrictive to allow anything more and he wanted…

Panting hard and unconsciously grazing his hands up and down Mary's thighs, Matthew dragged himself from her long enough to gasp out,

"Not like this, dear… Bed," then drew her in to another eager, lingering kiss.

She nodded breathlessly. "Can you –"

"Not alone." He flashed her a rueful grin. "Help me?"

Easing herself quickly off, Mary slipped an arm under his shoulders in what was now a familiar routine to them, easing him up onto unsteady legs, and together they reached the bed. It took them with a welcoming creak, and she lay over him as she'd only dared to dream of before now.

"Matthew…" She touched his cheek, kissed his face, felt him beneath her and was overcome by a wave of love so strong that it made her tremble. As if he could sense it, share it, realise it, Matthew leaned up to meet her kiss, with such tenderness that she could not doubt him, could not doubt _this_.

"I meant it," he murmured against her lips, then eased back down to look at her. His hands came up and touched her hair, almost in a caress. "I hope you won't ever cut your hair like that."

Mary arched an elegant eyebrow. "Why?"

He smiled. "I didn't know when I said it, but… I've been very, very blind. You're beautiful."

Before he could dwell any more on it, refusing to allow himself time for sense to creep back into this storm of love, pure love that was between them and them alone that might only ever exist in open acknowledgement for this night, he pulled her back down to him and lost himself once more in her searching, knowing kiss.

Oh, she loved him… Mary writhed over him, relishing the feel of him under her, his hands on her back, his lips, face, breath hot against hers. Her hands began to work with more deliberation at his shirt, when a sharp bolt of practicality hit her. Matthew was so dependent now, needed assistance to dress for bed and get himself in, and everyone knew he wasn't yet…

"Is – anyone likely to come?" She paused briefly in her attentions.

Matthew was too lost in her, too thrilled by simply being _able_ to feel, and love, and _do__ this_… He raised an eyebrow, and answered her with a sly, breathless smirk.

"Well dear, I'd like to think –"

"Matthew!" She smacked him lightly and captured the rest of his sentence in a blinding kiss, blushing furiously in spite of the thrill coursing through her at his intent. "Are we – likely to be disturbed?" The question seemed to make their course irreversible, if it had ever not been until now.

"Not unless I ring," he gasped as she writhed again over him. "Which I absolutely assure you, I shan't be doing."

"Good," she murmured, and began to kiss her way very deliberately down his front… Teasing open his shirt as she went, she smoothed her hand over the smattering of hair on his chest, placing tender kisses and licks onto each still-visible scar across his torso, pouring her heart into every one. His hand rested at the top of her back as she moved, gently clasping and encouraging, he could hardly breathe for the pressing ache of love in his chest and the sweet torment of her lips and tongue against his skin.

When she reached his belly, her fingers played softly down the trail of hair, and she smiled at the way he shivered, every gasp of his breath loud in the stillness and the silence. Without hesitation she removed his belt, undid his trousers… It was not as though his body was new to her, now, she'd seen it and bathed it in the hospital, but… this was quite, quite different. Everything was different, new, beautiful, bittersweet… She felt him stiffen, heard the audible catch of his breath, felt his fingers tighten on her shoulders as she found him… kissed him… touched him… tasted him…

Oh, he needed this, he needed her, more than anything he'd ever needed before… He could _feel_ it, her, them, and the joy of it was utterly overwhelming. He was not used to feeling, there, now, and it only made the pleasure sharper… Every sweep of her tongue, stroke of her hand, sent fierce stabs of arousal spiralling out from his core. Then… she stopped, raised herself, and he stared at her, his gaze shining with adoration.

Mary smiled indulgently. The atmosphere was too thick, it could not be broken with words now, but he understood her meaning perfectly well… Allowing her to unclothe him entirely, then herself, watching in wordless wonder as her gown slipped down her body to the floor, followed by her corset when she unhooked it. It was as though they were in a dream of pure fantasy, in which they indulged, hardly daring to believe it was reality as she came back to the bed and stretched herself over his body.

He loved her, wanted her, craved her… and she was giving herself to him, and it was everything. Only briefly did it pass through his mind to feel sorry that he was almost helpless in the act. Though his feeling had returned, he could not muster the strength in his hips to drive against her as he'd wish, but… oh, how could it matter when she was loving him as she was, her sly grin and repeated licks against his skin and the way she writhed against him testifying to her pleasure and then… he forgot everything as she rose to her knees and… sank down onto him, covering him and encompassing him utterly in her wet, tight warmth. Her head fell back in a sigh of pleasure, and he groaned at the sight and the feel of her…

As she grasped his shoulders and began to rock against him, Matthew drew in sharp, gasping breaths, undone by the control she had over him, over them… His hands, which had been holding her hips and pulling her down onto him, now slid up her sides, and around to tease over her breasts, and he grinned as her eyes squeezed shut in a low moan of pleasure. He held her and shifted himself up, enough to hold her in a tight embrace as she continued to move on and over him… Their lips met again in a fierce, desperate clash, before he curled his back, lowering his mouth to her breasts as they moved together in a beautiful rhythm; rocking, tasting, grasping, as he flicked his tongue over her and over her, lavishing her with attention that forced out guttural moans from her lips, until he could take no more and eased back into the pillows, pulling her down with him.

She fell willingly over him, and shifted her hips, finding the rhythm that made him groan with each breath, hot into her ear. Clutching him tightly, she quickened, carried away by love and need and the glorious feel of him within her, knowing that he could feel it, that she had made him feel it… His arms were pinning her hips to him, and she ground against him faster, feeling the friction and sweat of their bodies mingling and meeting, and it was perfect… Matthew shuddered under her, deliciously out of control, as he surrendered himself utterly to her desire as the heat within him built, flamed, stormed into a frenzy along with her movements until his head swam and he was swallowed up in frenzied passion.

Hot breaths, stifled moans, reverberated in the air around them as Mary began to shatter over him, the uncontrolled jerk of her hips sending him spiralling over the edge into bliss. They clung to each other, pleasure breaking over them in breathless, shuddering waves as everything came apart and fused together all at once, her, him, _them_… until they lay trembling, spent, satisfied in complete togetherness.

Matthew enfolded her in his arms, welcoming the heavy weight still of her on top of him, and pressed his lips to her cheek.

"Thank you," he murmured deeply.

"Oh darling," Mary sighed. "I wish that –"

"I know, my dear." He held her tighter, kissed her again, tenderly brushed damp strands of hair from her neck. "I know."

Perhaps, he thought, as she tenderly dressed him in his pyjamas and folded up his clothes, they could find a way. Perhaps… But, as she dressed herself again and smiled at him, a warm, knowing, loving smile, he knew that whatever might happen – they would have this. Details could be worked out, talk and sense and reason could come… But now, tonight – Mary was still in love with him.

She kissed his forehead, then his lips – a soft, lingering, promising kiss that somehow seemed to encompass everything unspoken between them. He watched her walk over to the door, turn and look at him a moment, before she left and he was in darkness.

He… was still in love with her, too. And at that moment, nothing else seemed to matter in the world. He might not have known it, might have buried it and ignored it and locked it away, but now that it had been released again in the full rages of love – he adored her, had always adored her.

How had he not seen it? Her feelings, his own feelings… that had apparently seemed so obvious to those among their family, those who knew them.

Mary was still in love with him.

And he was still in love with her.

**Fin**

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><p>AN: _Thank you so much for reading! I do hope you enjoyed it - if you did, a review would be utterly lovely! Here's hoping for some M/M happiness VERY SOON. Or I'll be going crazy. Thank you! :)_


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